


Bad Days

by KitKatKitsune



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Burns, Dissociation, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hearing Voices, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Insanity, Mental Health Issues, Not beta read we die like my mental health, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, References to Depression, Self-Hatred, Trauma, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28879332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitKatKitsune/pseuds/KitKatKitsune
Summary: Everyone has bad days.  Kaleb copes by writing pieces of himself into his characters, giving them a tiny piece of himself, and gets carried away writing about himself and his trauma.
Kudos: 1





	Bad Days

**Author's Note:**

> This started out just writing a little hurt for my dnd characters, and ended with me pouring my current thoughts into a school rented chromebook. You don't have to read this, but I thought maybe some people with similar experiences to me could find comfort in it. TW are in the tags.

There were days where Opal woke up feeling as though she were burning. She would bring her unscarred hand to her ruined cheek, and gently stroke it. The only reason she would know she was touching it was because of the feeling of poor leather under her fingertips. On those days, she would sit and silently cry, tears clouding the vision in her working eye. On those days, Opal would lay under quilts and listen to the rocking of the sea, mourning for parents long since dead, a life long since killed. She would barely register her wife stroking her hair, barely register the soft tickle of Naeris’ potions being massaged into burned skin until the phantom burning subsided. On those days, her wife would take over running the ship, with no complaint. On bad days, Opal would cry for a home long gone, ashes having grown cold years ago.  
There were days where Alizon would wake up with an ache in her chest. She would get up, grab a parchment, and write a letter to her students. She would try and make it as detailed as possible, spilling stories of wondrous things into the papyrus. She would go out into the dining area of whatever inn the group was staying at, a sad smile on her face, before she sent the letter off on a messenger hawk, well wishes on her tongue and a gentle wave. On bad days, she would reenter the inn, order her favorite meal, and tell stories of her travels to whoever would listen. On bad days, knowledge was left behind, infecting the minds of anyone who would listen to the young girl, blood and mind full of wisdom.  
There were days where Naeris would wake up with a hunger in her throat, grief in her eyes. Grief for someone not dead, someone abandoned. A brother, taken by a god thirsty for power, and her mouth would itch for alcohol, her mind would beg to forget, just for a bit. On those days, Opal would drag her across the ship, teaching her more and more. On those days, her wife would tell her sweet nothings in between barking at sailors. On bad days, Naeris would remember her brother, remember her uncle, and grieve for a life she foolishly left behind.  
There were days where Fukuro would wake up, a scream in her throat, blood staining her hands. She would remember lives lost to her own hand, and lives lost to choices thrust upon her. She looked at her son, at her betrothed, and slipped back into old habits. Her wings would shift back into the familiar position, as though in an invisible bind. She would cry silently, making no noise to appease monsters long gone, forgotten by everyone except her. On those days, her betrothed would do any speaking for her, her son would try to make her crack even the tiniest smile. On bad days, Fukuro would think of those who hurt her, and would cry for a childhood she never had.  
There were days where Crick would wake up to noise nobody else could hear, voices making demands nobody else could sense. On those days, they would curl in on themselves, pin their ears to their head, and mumble wordlessly. On those days, their sister would stay with them, gently tugging their hands from their hair. On those days, they struggled not to lose themselves in static, not to snap. Struggled not to let the madness slip in even more. On bad days, Cricket struggled to stay above the waves, trying not to drown in madness.  
There were days where Kaleb would wake up to the feeling of phantom hands gripping his hips, his chest, and even a binder couldn’t stop the ache in his heart. On those days, he flinched away from touch, and words died in his throat, never reaching his tongue. On those days, the only thing that could keep him going was an empty document, or a drawing tablet, or online sheet music. On those days, it took everything in him to pretend to be ok, when he hated himself, when his skin felt like it was melting off, when he hated the fact that he wasn’t ok. On those days, he lost hours at a time, slipping from his mind. On those days, the taste of bile was permanently in the back of his throat, the feeling of his clothing suffocating, a minute shake to his hands. On those days, the back of his head hurt, and even thinking of standing made the world spin. On those days, he opened a computer, and wrote.  
He wrote about characters in his mind, characters he played in a simple tabletop game, characters dealing with their own bad days, characters dealing with their own traumas. But never a character quite like him. Never a character who, with the simple thought of sex, was filled with terror, disgust, and self-hatred. A character who wishes they could touch themselves without crying. Because playing a character like that would mean that it wouldn’t be acting. Would mean it wouldn’t be fun. Would mean admitting that his character was just like him. So instead, he pretends to be the character. He pretends the bad days are just a creation in his head, an exciting new situation to act out, to test himself.  
On bad days, Kaleb writes down his sorrows, his thoughts, and grieves of a life turned to ash. He grieves for a childhood cut short, he grieves for the children he could have had, if he wasn’t terrified. He grieves for the person he was before a bone deep terror of getting close to people set in. He grieves for the betrayal of a friend, and he grieves for the moments he could have had. He grieves, because his mother told him not to tell anyone. He grieves, because he wishes, oh he wishes, someone would ask if he was ok. He grieves, because even if someone did, he would give them a smile and a white lie. He grieves, because he wishes he could tell this to someone, and get a soft smile and validation. He grieves, because he needs to protect his little siblings, his children, from ever feeling like this. He grieves, because he wishes he was ok.

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned that each character has a piece of me in them so:  
> Opal: The inability to get out of bed on a bad day  
> Alizon: The need to pretend to be ok, to fool everyone else  
> Naeris: The lost brother, being abandoned despite living together  
> Fukuro: The nightmares, crying silently to not make someone angry  
> Crick: The feeling of someone loving me, but exhausted by taking care of me  
> Kaleb: Well.


End file.
